A Declaration of Death
by Dove's Wing
Summary: It's one thing to fight, but it's a completely different thing to kill. *For Klbooks' Siblings Challenge*


_***For Klbooks' Challenge***_

**Challenge Name - A Moment for Siblings.**

**Challenge Description (what the challenge is about) - All siblings have their moments, where they understand each other sorta better, in most cases - although they'll deny it. And aren't they so adorable? x) So write a oneshot of a sibling moment.**

**Challenge Criteria (word count, specific pairings/category, etc.) -**

**-It has to be a oneshot.**

**-Has to be just two siblings. Not more than two, and they have to be siblings -not two cousins, etc., they have to be siblings.**

**-Not blindingly OOC.**

**-Use of quote, "It's not going to be alright." or any variation that's not too...different. It can be thought out, flashback-ish, an echo-sorta thing, said aloud, etc...as long as it's there. It can be said by anyone, and should be pretty easy to do...**

**Challenge Entry Due Date - Hate these things, so there isn't one.**

**To think about -**

**-It doesn't have to be post-hunt. It can be before, during, future...anything.**

**-It has no word minimum/maximum.**

**-It doesn't have to be fluffy. It can be angsty, or anything else.**

A Declaration of Death

_It all started with a letter... Well, that, and a dispute over leadership that had been ongoing for decades..._

**60...**

"But why?"

"Important business. I'm sorry. I'll be back soon, son. Everything will be alright," he says, his heart forming a small crack of downheartedness. He dragged the words from his lips; they sounded hollow to his ears. His eyes held an explosion of remorse, any forms of laughter long diminished in hungry flames of guilt.

The young boy who stands in front of him blinks his huge eyes, slowly, ever so gradually. "Okay," he replies, his voice sad. "I'll see you soon, Daddy. I'll be smart!" He cheers, grinning from ear to ear.

He, as a parent, nods approvingly. "I'm glad. That will be very nice." He bends down, kissing the child's head ruefully, remorsefully. "I'll be back," he promises again, his final words before departure.

But one should always know that for a Cahill, coming back is never an one-hundred percent guarantee.

_ The man narrows his eyes, watching the household on a computer screen through an implanted camera hidden on a flower pot. He lets a sneer conquer his features, twisting his face from one of ignorance to evil. The shadow in his heart fought for more land, and it succeeded, fortunately in his mind, unfortunately for his victims, who would be pounced upon today. His nose twitched, as if he were a hound, able to hunt by the smell of blood. His mind urges him to release the cackle being held up within, but he does not do so. A cackle would not satisfy his enjoyment, his rejoice. It would not, in any way, satisfy it._

_ His eyes danced with sparks of cruelty flickering between sprinkles of anger, neglection, and doubt. But the sparks were more convincing than sprinkles, thus overpowering him to this very act that was about to play before his very eyes. Let the curtain rise, let the show begin._

**30...**

He stepped off the plane, thanking the pilot kindly. His briefcase was grasped tightly in his hand; it held important documents- _vital_ documents. His eyes shone with determination. Determination to complete this mission, determination to return to his son. It's strange how big of an affect a small child can take on you.

He faced the open streets grimly, eyes scanning the cars that speed by. The crack in his heart grew steadily bigger, growing into a crevice as he spent more time worrying. Streams of people flow past him, brushing against his black suit, the color of death.

He sighs, walking forward with a brisk pace, shoulders tense and rigid. _Continuing on._

_ He lets a mocking laugh erupt from his mouth, leaving it to rest coldly in the empty air. Everything was going as planned- the victim was playing right into the trap. And what a clever enhancement it was, for not a single soul expected a thing. It would be an out of the blue tragedy for the general public. Yes, he would never be caught, never be discovered as a criminal. The secrecy of being a Cahill had the most perfect advantages._

_ Another being stands silently at his side, expectantly waiting for his command, eyes glimmering with hostility. A paper was clenched in his fist- the companion had studied it to memorization, savoring every word, desperate not to fail his boss' revenge._

_ "Go," he dictates, glaring. "Do not fail me, or you will not receive the payment. Meet the man there."_

_ "Yes, sir," the companion salutes, walking coolly out of the headquarters._

_ The dictator swivels around in his chair, smirking. So close...almost. Yes. The plan was to be put into action in a few moments. And as each ticking second passed by, the shadow in his heart conquered a larger ratio._

**15...**

He raises his hand for a cab, his dark hair waving with the wind. Flashes of color dance behind his eyes as he concentrates on glancing around for fellow enemies. He could never be too careful, especially with his family heritage...and the family relations surrounding his own.

A car stops before his eyes, a man peeks tepidly out. "Where to?" he asks, a typical public driver inquiry.

He tells him where he wishes to go, and climbs in the vehicle. He sits silently in the backseat, fretting, for he cannot shake of the minuscule spot of doubt that something was dreadfully wrong. And an aforementioned crack expanding did nothing for assurance.

If only he had seen the driver peering at him viciously from the rearview mirror.

_One would think he would be cackling maniacally at this moment, but he was not, nor did he have intentions to. The event was drawing steadily nearer, leading to more tension. Poison from long ago had twisted him sour. That man, the very one he watched through this screen, had deprived him of everything. Such a well behaved chid, one who was expert at what seemed to be everything. He'd stolen everything, attention, leadership, his dreams. _

_ That would be no more. After this, he would make sure it never happened to him again. Ever._

**...0...**

It was sudden. The car swerved, slamming into a telephone pole. He leaps out, only making the jump successfully from his Cahill driver somehow makes it out as well, though he does not glimpse exactly how. He scrambles to his feet, readying himself to help _the companion_, relieved both of them had made it out.

That wasn't the end. How he wished it was, but it was not.

A gunshot sounded- part of him imagines he can see the bullet hurtling towards him, in slow motion like an action movie.

And then it makes contact, throwing him backwards.

As he lays bleeding on the street, faintly aware of the cold pavement seeping into his skin, vaguely feeling warm blood gush out, he attempts to call for help. His lips move, but all that can come out is an indiscernible rasp.

Was this the end? Yes.

_His smirk grew larger, threatening to overflow. His cheekbones ached. The deed was done. Completed and successful._

_ He wasn't sure if he had ever been happier._

One man alive and well, the other on the verge of death. One voice sinister, one voice regretful, and one word was emitted from both men alike.

_"Goodbye."_

* * *

**A/N: **Well _that_ has got to be the happiest fic I have ever read. :P

Some things to cover:

~The siblings are Bae and Gordon Oh, if you haven't figured that out. Bae is in the italics, Gordon is in the regular font.

~What on earth are those weird numbers? Well, they're the countdown (in minutes) of how far away it is from Gordon's death.

Anyways, please point out any mistakes, I tried writing in present tense this time, something I haven't done before. I'm not used to it; I kept slipping to past tense, so I'd be grateful if you pointed out anything wrong.

Thanks for reading!

~Dove's Wing~

P.S. Happy Thanksgiving!


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